Seventy Times Seven
by Igiveup
Summary: Slightly different version of The Empty House. Can Watson really forgive Holmes for not telling him the truth?


_You know the drill by now. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John H. Watson were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I'm going to try to do a response to Protector Of The Gray Fortress' challenge over in the Elementary My Dear Reader Forum._

_Challenge: Post a story short or long, about a time when Holmes pushed Watson too far, and about how our two comrades become reconciled._

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_**Then Peter came to Him and said, "Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times? Jesus said to him, "I do not say to you seven times, but up to seventy times seven."**_

**_-Matthew 18:21-22 _**

_He had promised..._ Watson thought as he listened to Holmes speak. _He had promised that he would never scare me like that again..._ For three long agonizing years, Watson had believed that Sherlock Holmes had died in his struggle with Moriarty. He had spent those three years blaming himself, and unwilling to accept what he had believed to be reality he had locked himself away inside his stories publishing one right after another, pretending that Holmes was still alive. During that time, Mary took ill and died. Once again, Watson had blamed himself. If he had focused on the present instead of hiding in the past, he might have detected her illness sooner and saved her life. It took several months before he could accept the fact she would have died anyway, regardless of when he learned of her illness. Now, after all that, Watson was learning that Holmes had tricked him again. Holmes had survived, and in his own words was, "in perfect comfort" while he hid, deliberately ignoring Watson's anguished screams. A knot formed in Watson's stomach, growing tighter the more Holmes spoke. After the incident with Culverton Smith, Holmes had given his word that he would never frighten Watson like that again. But he had, and this deception was even more cruel than the last.

"I had but one confident, my brother Mycroft."

_Why Mycroft and not me? _Watson wondered, as the knot began climbing his throat. _Why was I deemed less trustworthy?_

"...it was all important that the world thought I was dead, and there is no way that you would have written such a convincing account had you yourself not believed it."

_Ah, yes, my inability to lie,_ Watson thought bitterly. It was the same excuse Holmes had given for his deception with Culverton Smith. But why for three whole years? Did Holmes not understand the torture these years had been for Watson? Watson had often accused the detective of being a calculating machine, but Holmes could not truly be that heartless, could he? _He already has,_ hissed a cruel voice in the back of Watson's mind. A roaring sound filled his ears, and he had to force himself to keep listening to what Holmes was saying.

"I have taken up my pen several times to write to you, but I always feared a lapse of judgment on your part would lead to my discovery."

Those words were like a knife twisting in Watson's heart. His voice came out in a hoarse croak, "How-how could you think I would betray your safety? I would die for you Holmes!" Watson's voice grew louder as he said, "I would have thought I was as trustworthy as your brother!"

Holmes' already pale face turned paler still at Watson's words. He reached out to put his hand on Watson's shoulder. Watson, whom no more than five minutes earlier had been clinging to Holmes' arms for dear life, now jerked away, wrapping his arms around himself.

"Don't touch me!" It was as if a dam had burst, and the words poured out of Watson. "How dare you! After three whole years of letting me believe you were dead, you just waltz back in here and expect me to welcome you with open arms? How on earth can you possibly expect me to pretend that nothing has happend? I cannot. I am not like you Holmes, I am not made of steel!" Watson's voice broke, and he angrily wiped the tears from his eyes.

"Watson I-" Holmes started to say, than stopped. He realized that he needed to stop talking before he made things even worse. Of course Holmes had not truly expected to be forgiven so easily. He may have hoped it would be so, but he possessed enough understanding of human nature to know that it would not be that simple. No, Watson's reaction did not surprise Holmes. In a demented way, Holmes was almost relieved by it. He had been carrying the guilt with him for these past years, and he was now getting the treatment he deserved. In fact, to be perfectly honest he had deliberately antagonized Watson, pushing him to react with justifiable anger. Those feelings needed to be brought out now, if Watson kept them hidden they would build up within him, causing either an explosion or a break down at some point in the future. Still, the betrayal in Watson's voice broke Holmes' heart and it took all of his acting skills not to break down himself.

**_"Leave me!"_** Watson screamed. He began to breathe deep, ragged breathes. He did not want Holmes to see him like this, with his emotions out of control. "Please," Watson whispered, "I do not want-I cannot-" he swallowed hard. "I need to be alone Holmes. This is just too much for me right now."

Holmes nodded and began to pick up the disguise he had tossed on the floor. "I am grateful that you are alive, Holmes. You have no idea how much I had prayed it were so," Watson whispered. He gave a heavy sigh. "But-but I do not believe I can ever forgive you for this. Please, do not visit here again. Do not make any attempt to contact me. If I wish to see you, I will seek you out myself."

"Very well then, Doctor, as you wish," Holmes said softly as he left the room. After everything he had done to Watson, Holmes owed it to the doctor to give him his space. Even if it meant they never saw each other again. Holmes knew he had only himself to blame.

After putting his disguise back on, he hobbled his way down to Baker Street. He tried to push the fight with Watson out of his mind. There was work to be done, and he needed to focus all of his attention if he was to be successful in his mission. Sebastian Moran had killed Ronald Adair. The time had finally come to bring Moriarty's right hand agent to justice. A trap had already been made. All Holmes needed to do now was set it in motion. He was grateful he had been able to persuade Mrs. Hudson to help-he would not be able to succeed without her assistance. He only hoped that he could succeed without Watson.

* * *

It was truly a masterpiece, Holmes could not help thinking. He was sitting in the abandoned house across the street from his old lodgings looking out the window that faced the sitting room window of 221b. The silhouette behind the shade looked exactly like the supposedly dead detective. Mrs. Hudson was hiding just out of sight, manipulating the dummy every so often to make it look lifelike. Holmes felt the corners of his mouth twitch in a brief grin. Moran would not be able to resist finishing what he had failed to do at Reichenbach. He would take the bait, and then Holmes would spring the trap. Yes, it was the perfect plan. If Watson were here he would certainly agree-Holmes stopped, feeling the guilt and sadness drain his pride away. It was no good, he might be able to fool others with his acting skills but he could not fool himself. He missed Watson terribly. Even more so now than he had during the past three years. At least then he had the excuse of not having his own identity as the reason for the emptiness he had felt. But now... during their years of friendship Watson had in a sense become a part of Holmes-and now that their friendship seemed dead it was if a part of Holmes had died. 

Holmes was drawn from his thoughts by a creaking sound on the stairs. He quickly withdrew into the shadows just before a figure entered the room. Moran had arrived, it was almost time to spring the trap.

* * *

Watson took another sip of water and leaned back in his chair. He knew that he had had every right to be furious with Holmes, but now that his nerves had begun to settle he began to feel guilty. Holmes did have a point about Watson's inability to lie. Trying to maintain the illusion of the grieving friend would be hard enough to accomplish for three hours, let alone three years. Then there was the fact that Holmes' life had been at stake. Watson shuddered. Maybe just knowing that Holmes had lived would have been dangerous enough, even without Watson trying to contact him. It also could not have been easy for Holmes to discard his own identity for three whole years, wandering around the globe, fearing detection. Holmes had felt remorse, too. Watson had seen it in his eyes. He sighed and stood up. He had a sudden urge to go to Baker Street, to see Holmes again. He had no idea what, if anything he would say to Holmes. But Watson knew that he had to go. For his own piece of mind, if nothing else. 

Fifteen minutes later he was standing outside 221b, staring up at the familiar silhouette in the window. He remembered how he had stood out here before after his first separation with Holmes(due to his marriage to Mary) just before the Irene Adler case. He chewed his lip, trying to make up his mind whether or not he should climb those seventeen stairs. How could he face Holmes so soon after his outburst. Still, making the first move had been his idea, so perhaps it was better to do so sooner rather than later.

Just then he heard the shatter of breaking glass come from the window above him. Then an all too familiar voice gave a loud shriek. Watson barely had enough time to remember how Ronald Adair had met his demise before it registered that the cry had come from the house across the street. Watson dashed into house. He could hear the sounds of a struggle coming from one of the rooms on the upper floor. He followed the noise and threw open the door of the first room he came to. His heart stopped beating when he saw what was going on inside.

A man was leaning over Holmes, his hands in an iron grip around the detective's neck. Holmes was trying to break free, but he was clearly weakening. Watson dashed across the room and slammed into the attacker, forcing him to free Holmes. Watson could hear Holmes gasp for air behind him. With that small bit of reassurance Watson was able to focus all of his attention on the man who had nearly taken Holmes from him again. Watson struck him with a straight left to the jaw, the blow landing with a sharp crack. The man fell to the floor and Watson pinned him down before he could get up again. Holmes gave a few quick blasts into the police whistle. Moments later Lestrade and another Yarder entered the room.

"Here is your man, Lestrade. Arrest him!" Holmes said sharply. Watson was relieved that Holmes' voice was as strong as ever.

Lestrade was clearly delighted to see Holmes. Watson listened with surprise and amazement as he learned that it had all been a trick to catch Moran-and that it was Moran who had killed Ronald Adair. Holmes was truly a genius.

After Moran had been hauled away, Holmes turned to Watson. "Thank you Watson, I owe you my life." He hesitated a moment, then asked curiously, "What were you doing here?"

Watson looked down at the floor. "I-I wanted to talk to you again," he said quietly. Holmes cautiously reached out and put his hand on Watson's shoulder, not entirely sure if the gesture would be welcome. When Watson did not pull away, Holmes said, "Perhaps it would be better if we had this conversation in our old quarters hm?" Watson nodded in agreement.

When they entered the house, Watson hesitated slightly at the bottom of the stairs. He had not been in their rooms for nearly three years. Whenever he had visited Mrs. Hudson it had always been in her quarters. His heart was pounding with anticipation, and he felt nervous. Holmes glanced over at him in concern, and Watson quickly gave him a reassuring smile as he climbed the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to sense that the two men wished to be alone, so she very quickly exchanged pleasantries and left the room. Near the window was the wax dummy, a bullet hole now in its forehead. Everything else was exactly as it had been three years before. It was both familiar and foreign at the same time. Seeing the expression on Watson's face Holmes said, "I asked Mycroft to keep my rooms preserved exactly as they were for these past few years." The corners of his mouth twitched. "It still feels a bit strange for me to be back here as well."

Watson sat down in his old chair as Holmes paced around the room. Holmes felt nervous, on edge. Watson had come back to him, but why? Could he truly be willing to forgive Holmes so easily? The only sound was the ticking of the clock. Holmes took a deep breath. Watson had made the first move by showing up, and saving Holmes' life. The next move belonged to him. He sat down in his own chair.

"I am sorry, Watson. It was never my intention to hurt you, honest it wasn't. I am especially sorry I could not be there when you needed me most." Holmes had never let his emotions get the best of him before, not wanting to risk losing control. But Watson needed this-deserved this. A completely honest apology, straight from the heart.

"Holmes," Watson said softly, "I was deeply hurt when I learned you had not trusted me with the knowledge of your survival. All these years that I have been feeling guilt and remorse-" he stopped, and coughed before continuing. "But after you left earlier this evening I was able to give the matter some thought." Watson smiled sadly. "What you did was cruel, but perhaps it was necessary. I also realized just now, that my only options are either to forgive you or lose you again." His voice dropped down to a whisper. "I am not strong enough to survive losing you a second time."

"Watson..." Holmes' voice shook. He buried his head in his hands. "I-" He heard Watson stand up and walk over to his chair. Watson knelt down and placed his hands on Holmes shoulders. Holmes looked up. Watson's eyes were filled with love and forgiveness. "What on earth did I do to deserve a friend such as you?" Holmes whispered. There was silence again, but this time it was a comfortable reassuring silence as the two of found comfort in each other's presence.

Finally Watson spoke. "As delighted as I am to have you back, I cannot just fall back into my old position. I need time to get used to you again. Three years is a long time Holmes, and I'm certain our separation has changed us both. It is like we are starting over from scratch," he paused. "Do you understand? It is not that I do not want for things to be the way they were before, it is just-" Holmes held up his hand, stopping Watson's words. "Of course I understand my dear fellow. I need time to adjust myself. This is going to take time for us both." He smiled slightly. "But I think that it will be well worth the wait."


End file.
